


Make it with you

by MaxKowarth, Wildphoenix_ofthe80s



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Bake Off, GO : Lockdown, Lockdown Fic, M/M, bickering like heck, inspired by GO : Lockdown, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-03-03 06:07:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24170080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaxKowarth/pseuds/MaxKowarth, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wildphoenix_ofthe80s/pseuds/Wildphoenix_ofthe80s
Summary: Inspired by GO : Lockdown, the ineffable husbands get just a teeny bit competitive, drink wine, and eat sweet things."Make it with you" is a song by Bread, and that was just too good to pass up XD
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Kudos: 22





	Make it with you

"What do you want me to do, call Mary Berry to judge?!" Crowley purred sarcastically. He knew that sarcasm really wasn’t helping the situation, but he’d taken too much time reaching this point to back down now.

It had started with a phone call that had dragged him out from under the duvet. He may have existed since before the invention of time, but that didn’t stop Lockdown from stretching for all eternity. Aziraphale was in the same boat, only instead of napping he’d taken up baking, absurd being.

*

"Goodnight Angel."  
Crowley was far from asleep as promised. He was pacing the flat, running through the conversation again in his head. He should have said something - should have -  
No, his brain replied, we're trying to help him too. Cruel to be kind, and all that.  
But we could have offered him fresh vanilla... his heart cried. He glanced to the Vanilla orchid, which trembled a little at his attention and dried out several of it's own pods immediately.  
We still can, if he's willing, the little voice inside him said.  
Crowley misted a plant, not even feeling enough umph to scream at them. His eyes alighted on his little kitchenette, and suddenly he wondered...

*

Across town the aforementioned absurd angel Aziraphale stood by the door to his bookshop, thumbs in the pocket of his waistcoat, eyes on the deserted street outside.  
He had seen a postman early in the morning and, just before the phone call, the nurses making their way to work. He was sure that they were a couple, and seeing them always brought a smile to his face. It was for them that there was a little glass rainbow hanging up below the 'closed for the foreseeable' sign.  
But it wasn’t the same as actually seeing people. Telling them he wasn’t open, or startling in surprise as someone opened the door at all.

On the plus side of the lockdown, Aziraphale hadn’t see Gabriel either. That is to say he'd seen him, through the window, jogging ferociously. Every. Single. Day.  
And each day Aziraphale would sense his feet pounding the pavement outside, above the sounds of all the other joggers, and he would look up, smile good naturedly and give a little three fingered wave (Except for the days when his hands were covered in dough, and on those days he occasionally imagined a lump of dough hitting the back of the archangel’s head at speed. It was a naughty thought that crinkled the sides of his mouth delightfully, and one day he might act on it - if Crowley didn't find out about this desire first.)  
For every smile the archangel received his face grew darker, his scowl knitting the lines in his forehead closer together.

So when the locked door tinkled open and broke his reverie, Aziraphale was almost expecting it to announce the decidedly unwelcome form of Gabriel. Instead, there was Crowley, His Crowley; backlit by the May sunlight, a black void of stick thin insolence carrying a large paper bag.

"I… It…It’s not July." Aziraphale stammered.  
"Ahh." Crowley smiled, crinkling his nose and pushing up his sunglasses. "One day’s much the same as another. I bring fruit, and fresh vanilla. But-" The demon closed the door behind him, "As you turned down my wine, I'm gunna show up your buns."  
"W-what on earth do you mean?!" Aziraphale managed, blushing at the demon's grin and looking down at the bag that was pushed into his hands as Crowley passed him. It smelt delightful, and he was briefly distracted. By the time he glanced back up, the demon had settled on a pile of large books, "I'm challenging you to a bake-off, Angel."  
"Oh dear." Aziraphale managed, "I don't think the kitchen is big enough."  
"That sounds like a challenge accepted to me." Crowley chuckled. 

*

And that’s how Crowley came to be lounging against the counter as Aziraphale baked.

"Who, dear boy?" 

"Mary Berry, y'know?" Crowley waved his hands in a vague approximation of height and haircut. "Nah, course you don't, you don't have any cookbooks from the last 50 years. What about Fanny Craddock, can probably drag 'er in!"  
"Oh, this isn't you boasting about your sides collection of celebrities, is it?"  
"Noooo well… Maybe a little. Berry ain't dead yet, know Eric was hoping to get a handle on her. Think he's barking up the wrong tree, even I wouldn't go after her on the surface of things, but look at all the temptation she’s created on the mortal plane. Got to be one of ours, right? Someone has to feed all the composers and politicians."

‘Well, you can stop it-" Aziraphale interrupted, tugging on the bottom of his waistcoat for emphasis, "I'll have no fanny in here, thank you very much."  
"Besides, your lot got Kenneth Williams." Crowley continued.  
Aziraphale huffed and checked the time on his pocket watch. The oven should be ready, so now to mix the ingredients. Crowley was still talking, "And no fanny eh? I'll bear that I'm mind next time I visit."

The angel ignored him, and rolled up his sleeves. Ingredients were measured to the finest molecule, added in sequence, and then his hands plunged into the mixture. Crowley pointedly utterly failed not to watch. After a few minutes, Aziraphale turned to the demon, grin as wide as ever, to find him lent back just shy of the pull of gravity, watching.  
"I say, is something amiss?"  
"Oh no, Angel. Just... " He waved his wine glass vaguely, "Kneading. I mean needing to know the process. You know... Less point watching if I don't learn something."  
"And you've challenged me to a competition?" The Angel snorted, "You really are as ridiculous as ever, Crowley."  
"Yeah well, stopped you turfing me back out din't it?" The demon snorted, "Gunna need more wine before my go."  
"Not too much, you know how I feel about even having an oven in the bookshop."  
"Ngk." Crowley shuddered, "Definitely need another glass if you're bringing that back up. Told you to get rid of the candles."  
Aziraphale returned his attention to the bowl until Crowley returned, "If you're going to get drunk and forfeit, you could at least help me, you know. I'm going to need the fruit shaken into the mixture as I..."  
He tailed off, eyes going wide and mouth forming a perfect O. Crowley was pressed to his back, an arm around his waist while the other collected the bowl of mixed fruit.  
'"Thisssss one?" He hissed in the angels ear. Aziraphale nodded without looking at the bowl. He found that he had to lean back into the demons chest to leave space for the pouring of the fruit. Thanks to this impartial and perfectly rational decision, he also found that he had to remind Crowley to pour said fruit, Several times, with decreasing breath.

At length Crowley ran out of fruit to pour, and offered to help knead. The dough, obviously. Aziraphale blushed and flustered, "I.. Uh.. You could uhm.. Why not pour some wine, there's a good fellow?"  
The demon shrugged, reached for the bottle and was all set to pour when Aziraphale exploded.  
"NO NO, INTO GLASSES, NOT MY PANETON!"  
"Recipes don't forbid wine... " Crowley muttered with a pretence of aloof disdain, "And you were there, they all used wine in the cooking."  
"Not on my first try Crowley, please. Perhaps for our next foray we could... Experiment. I uh... with the palette, obviously."  
"Oh yeah, obviousssly " Crowley grinned around his glass.

Aziraphale covered the mixing bowl and put it above the warm oven, "2 hours then, where is my timer..."  
"You have to wait for how long?!" bellowed Crowley, "That's why we invented take away!"  
Aziraphale flapped his hands, eager that they didn't bring that particular piece of cooperation up again, "But, you see Crowley, take away isn't happening. I'm not sure takeaway bread has happened since 1980."  
"TWO HOURS AZIRAPHALE!"  
"Plus another hour after another kneading."  
"THREE HOURS?"  
"And 40 minutes baking." The angel played with his fingers, "Look at it this way dear boy, we can make the trifle you promised while we wait."

"It's Panettone."  
"It's Paneton in my book."  
"Because you're using a 16th century recipe from Milan." Crowley snarked, helping himself to more alcoholic cherries from the bottom of the trifle dish, "It's dull."  
"Oh, is that your expert judgement?" Aziraphale snorted, "We should make the same thing next time."  
"Double cake, delightful." Crowley tried not to look too excited at the idea of watching Aziraphale eat two cakes, and maybe having a little himself. Truth be told, the trifle was good, as was the Victoria sponge they had also eaten while waiting for this bloody bread to prove.  
"You didn't have to come over." Aziraphale said crossly.  
"Oh, didn't I?" Crowley leaned over the back of the chair as the Angel made his way to turn off the timer, "You and your cake - and your pleading."  
Steady on, his brain said, don't go too fast.  
There was silence as the timer was clicked off, and a clang as the baking tray was removed from the oven. A click of the temperature dial later, the Angel had returned, "I-I know."  
"Angel?"  
Aziraphale wrung his hands, "I know. I had hoped - hoped you'd say yes. And then you said no and I thought I'd be alone until- until." He hiccuped, eyes full of tears. Crowley reached over the back of the chair, touching the angel's face gently, thumbing the tears away, "Steady on there, Angel."  
One soft hand covered his. The angel nuzzled against it gently, "I'm glad you came over."  
"You're not with them anymore, Angel." Crowley said quietly, "You can ask me to come over."  
"I-I know. I'm so foolish, Crowley, it never occurred to me that I-I was still pushing you away."  
"Old habits." The demon replied. He reached for his phone.  
"Would-Would you like some Paneton?"  
Crowley thought. He didn't want to eat too much and get sleepy, on the other hand, it smelt amazing.  
"Small piece." He replied, "I'll be asleep if you feed me too much."  
Aziraphale chuckled, "Even you asleep is better company than being alone, dear." 

The Angel returned momentarily with two pieces of the sweet bread, spread with a little butter and warm from the oven. Crowley took a deep inhale of the scent, knowing he was heading for slumber town.  
"Before I nod off, Angel." He murmured, "How about we hunker down together and listen to the radio or something until July?"  
"What's happening in July?" Aziraphale said through a mouthful of bread.  
"What isn't?" Crowley replied with a snort, "But I just thought - housing market's meant to be opening again soon - and I found this." He moved to sit on the floor, back to the Angel's legs. He tilted his phone sideways, "Look at this."  
"That's a pretty cottage." The angel said.  
"Mmm. Thought you might like it. And look at this room at the back."  
Aziraphale froze mid-mouthful.  
"Ex-study and library." The demon beamed, "What do you say?"  
"What do I - Crowley are you- Are you asking me to..?"  
"Library, Garden, orchard, kitchen. Big bedroom. Room in the living room for my big TV."  
"Where?"  
"South Downs. Not far from-"  
"-Tadfield." Aziraphale finished his mouthful, "You're suggesting we-"  
"I am. How about it?"

**Author's Note:**

> What's happening in July?? Why... the stuff of dreams.


End file.
